


You Can Run, But Will Just Die Tired

by Devilc



Category: Six (TV 2017)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Drunk Sex, M/M, Military, U.S. Navy SEALs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:00:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24765076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devilc/pseuds/Devilc
Summary: Bear's so drunk the world is almost spinning when Caulder pours him out of the Lyft, grabs his upper arm and guides him between the other bungalows, across the porch, and through the door. He's in Caulder's living room before he manages to say, "This … this isn't my hotel."(Set during S2.)
Relationships: Joe "Bear" Graves/Alex Caulder
Kudos: 14





	You Can Run, But Will Just Die Tired

**Author's Note:**

> _Six_ is copyright its respective owners and this is a bit of fair use what-iffery
> 
> I wrote this back in 2018 for the Con*Strict 'Zine before _Six_ completely let me down with its unexamined jingoism and bored me stiff with its families whose sole function was to do the stupidest thing possible at worst possible time. (Seasons 1-4 of Strike Back set the bar high for spec-ops military fiction, I confess.) I meant to post it about two years ago, but life had other plans, so you're getting it now.
> 
> The tension between Bear and Caulder really built during S2, and, well, they struck me as being a few beers away from working off some of that built up steam. This is my take on what I think would've made for a much better and more interesting twist to their story.
> 
> Line is from an old joke about what will happen once the SEALs start going after you.

Bear's so drunk the world is almost spinning when Caulder pours him out of the Lyft, grabs his upper arm and guides him between the other bungalows, across the porch, and through the door. He's in Caulder's living room before he manages to say, "This … this isn't my hotel."

"No shit, Sherlock," Caulder laughs. "I tried to get you there, but you couldn't remember what hotel you're at. Never thought I'd see the day when I was more sober than you at last call."

"I'm at --" a pretty swank place with a California King bed and a shower that's actually got the head high enough for him.

(But Lena isn't there. And she may never be again, no matter where "there" is.)

Caulder manhandles his drunk ass over to the overgrown loveseat that Caulder calls a couch -- no mean feat considering that Bear's got 4 inches and a shit-ton of muscle on him -- and they both laugh because there's no way that Bear's going to stretch out on the damn thing. Any attempt to lie down will only end in the most godsawful crick in his neck, though there is a distinct possibility of flopping off it in the middle of the night and clipping (and breaking) the glass top coffee table next to it on his way down to the floor tiles. 

"Looks like it's the bed for you, Bear." Caulder grins crookedly.

He mumbles something about just needing a pillow and a blanket and pushes off to head down the hall to wherever it is Caulder keeps his linens, but Caulder stays him with a firm hand to the chest. "Powerade." Two steps to the fridge and he presses a quart bottle of lurid blue liquid into Bear's hand and softly chants "chug-chug-chug" under his breath, and Bear fights back a laugh as he downs it. He staggers over, opens the fridge, pulls out a volcanic red bottle of the same stuff and passes it to Caulder. "What's good for the goose -- 'cause you're not that far behind me." 

Bear doesn't make the chug-chug-chug joke as Caulder downs it, because for some fucking reason he can't stop watching the way that Caulder's adam's apple bobs up and down as he swallows. He tells himself that he's lucky to have a brother-SEAL in his life like this. "We're both prolly gonna need to piss like racehorses come sunrise." He laughs a little.

Caulder's steel blue eyes bore into his. "You leave a spot on the seat, or on the floor, and you'll detail it off, sailor."

Bear's mouth leaps ahead of his brain. "Your place is really clean for a single guy's -- not that you'd live in a sty. You got a woman coming in or something?"

Caulder gives an epic eye roll before saying, "No, Bear, it's just me. I keep my things squared away at work _and_ home is all, unlike some folks we know."

"Oh, 'cause lots of other single guys --"

"Just 'cause my personal life is a hot mess doesn't mean my house is, too." Caulder takes Bear's arm, slings it over his shoulder, and starts guiding him down the hall. "Also, you should know by now, Bear, I'm not lots of other guys. Not by a long shot." He mutters the last bit under his breath.

Part of him wants to tell Caulder that he's not _that_ drunk and he can make it down the hall to the bedroom. The other part of him wants to tell Caulder that yeah, he knows Caulder's not other guys, because of all the people he's been close to, nobody, not even Rip, has ever made him want to bear-hug them one moment and wring their friggin' necks the next quite as often as Caulder does.

Caulder steps in front to center their combined mass as he foots the door open, which brings his flank into contact with Bear's front, and --

"Oh, hello there big guy," Caulder says in a tone of voice Bear can't quite read.

Oh yeah. Somewhere along the way from the kitchen to the bedroom, Bear's gotten _achingly_ hard. Almost nobody's touched him with any kind of affection since Lena left him. But even as he thinks it, it feels kind of … off. But still, he's got to say _something_. "It's been a long time --" he manages to finally start by way of explanation as Caulder swings him over to the bed and helps him lay down. And no, that's not a good start and he's got no words to finish it that don't dig him in deeper, so perhaps he should quit while he's ahead.

Caulder mmms in reply, crouches at the foot of the bed, and makes short work of Bear's shoes.

Bear groans softly, shuts his eyes, and drapes his forearm over them for good measure. _It's been a long time_ the words echo in his head.

"Do you have the spins?" Caulder asks from the doorway to the bathroom.

"Nope." Thank god.

He hears Caulder doing something in the bathroom and his cock's still throbbing in his jeans, and he went commando tonight because he's out of clean undies, and he covers his face with his hands and _wills_ Caulder to finish whatever he's doing in the bathroom and exit so that he can take himself in hand and get some relief before sleeping.

The door opens and through slitted eyes Bear sees Caulder silhouetted by the light before it clicks off, leaving only the moonlight and streetlights that leak in through the blinds

And … Caulder's heading for the bed. 

Which, well, okay. It's Caulder's house and Bear's not going to deny him the comfort of his own bed. Queen size is plenty of space for the both of them. Shit, they've bedded down much more closely in the field.

Only.

Only that's not what Caulder's doing.

Caulder just straddled his thighs.

And he's naked.

And hard.

Bear sucks in a gasp and moves to sit up, but a firm hand to his chest is followed by an even firmer, "Shut up, Bear. Right now you want this as much as I do."

Bear tells his body it should move, throw Caulder off, say something, tell him no, but his body doesn't obey and he can't figure out how to make it comply. Then the wrong words tumble out of his mouth: "There's no way to stop this now without it getting weird, is there?"

Caulder gives an edgy chortle, his hands pausing in their work at Bear's fly. "Nope." His voice rings with false brightness. "So you might as well get some." Pause, then a whispered, "I won't tell if you don't."

 _Deal._ he thinks.

Once Caulder has him free, which is easy since he went commando, a crinkle-rustle noise is followed by the feel of a condom being rolled down over his length … only it takes him a moment to figure out what's going on, because it's been _years_ since he's used one.

(He's been faithful to Lena, thank you very much.)

(Only, he's 100% certain that this is not what she had in mind when she said that maybe they should see other people.)

Bear's brain still hasn't caught up to the next step, when, like that, Caulder's rearing up over him, taking him in hand, guiding him --

( _OMG, this isn't a condom for a blow job you idiot!_ he screams at himself.)

\-- and bearing down, taking him in with a cry that's half pain, half triumph. He hangs there, panting.

It's so good it makes Bear's eyes water. Nothing like a woman's root to tip glove, but rather an amazing hot tight ring (like a thumb and forefinger only better) slowly sliding down over his cock, and he can't quite contain a little "guh" noise when Caulder shimmies a bit to take him in just that last millimeter. The sharp gasp that accompanies that move prompts Bear to ask, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," Caulder replies a little tightly. "You're not the only one it's been awhile for, okay?"

Whatever it is Bear means to say vanishes in the next instant when Caulder slides up, only to rock back down.

One part of Bear's mind screams at him that this is sin. Screams at him that he should get down on his knees and pray, and call Pastor Jim for help. Another part barks at him that this is against all kinds of regs, cause you don't shit where you eat, doubly so when it's your own team, triple that when you're the leader.

He manages to clench two fistfulls of the bed spread so that his hands won't grab something else, but he can't quite stop rocking his hips to meet Caulder on the downstroke.

"That's it, Bear," Caulder almost croons, but hitching and a little breathless by the pace he's setting. "Just fuck the pain away."

"I--" but he can't say the next thing because Caulder cuts in, "Harder, Bear. Anything you dish out, I can take."

Of their own volition, Bear's hands fly up to clench on the horns of Caulder's hips and he starts slamming him down, practically pile driving Caulder onto his cock.

Something warm and wet splats on his chest -- not come -- and Caulder says, "'S just a nosebleed, Bear. Don't worry. Just -- I'm almost there -- keep on." Without missing a beat, Caulder takes one of Bear's hands and guides it to his madly seeping, oh so hot cock. "Don't be too gentle, okay?"

He isn't. Especially after a hissing "Harder …" he's not sure which one Caulder means, the fucking or the frigging, so he does both, and they buck and bounce and the bed frame is squeaking so loudly that he's almost sure the neighbors can hear it through the walls and across the gap, when Caulder gives a strangled, "Oh God, yes" and shoots like a firehose as the rest of his body clenches like a vice and Bear is blindsided by the rush of his own orgasm.

When the last aftershocks die down, Caulder climbs shakily off and flops down next to him. Before Bear can say anything, to him, he's out like a light.

He tugs the condom off, ties it off and drops it on the floor. He knows he should get up and clean them off, but he's going to lay here for a moment or two and enjoy the glow ….

~oo(0)oo~

It's almost sunrise when he wakes up, bladder fit to burst. The room is downright chilly and Caulder is plastered to him for body heat. He very carefully slides off the bed, body stiff from lying too still, head pounding, staggers to the bathroom and downs three advil after he's done peeing what feels like a gallon. He flips the bedspread over Caulder who sighs softly in his sleep, before he climbs back on the bed and rolls over on his side, away from Caulder.

He waits for the sense of guilt to kick in.

It doesn't.

He mostly just still feels hollow, and tired of waiting for the other shoe to drop. He closes his eyes and lets sleep come.

~oo(0)oo~

Daylight reveals the extent of the mess. The front of his shirt's covered in dried blood and jizz, and it's a good thing that Caulder's pillowcase is dark because he had a pretty intense nosebleed at some point. Bear says it with his eyes and Caulder nods, and he knows that Caulder's going to head to the infirmary because he sees worry to match his own in those blue depths.

He feels like 20 miles of rough road when he climbs in the shower. A few minutes later, Caulder climbs in, and, for a guy who must have a raging hangover, he doesn't show it. In fact he says, "Can I suck your cock?" Bear wasn't hard before, but he is now.

"Why?" The word is out of his mouth before he can stop it.

Alex guffaws and shoots him a look of 100% Whiskey Tango Foxtrot as he sinks to his knees. "Just take the opportunity to literally shut me the fuck up. It might not happen again."

It's nothing like those times when he's done this with Lena -- that was foreplay, a tender-hot tease as an appetizer for the main event -- and she's never said anything like, "Let go and fuck my mouth."

So he does. While Caulder frantically jacks himself.

Neither of them says anything until they're out in the kitchen, towels around their waists, Bear's clothes churning away in the washer, and each has a steaming mug of coffee in hand. 

"Was that … good for you?" Bear bends his brain around the idea as much as the words.

"Yes," Caulder rasps and clears his throat before taking a swallow of coffee. There's something almost sated in his gaze as he looks out the window and towards the beach.

He swallows hard and asks. "So, are you ...?"

Caulder sighs and scrubs his hands through his hair, making his unruly mop of curls just that much more so. "Am I what?" his voice sounds raw and froggy and Bear puts two and two together about other times that Caulder has shown up, voice creaky like this, but wasn't powering through a cold. "Gay? Not even close. Pussy tastes too damn good to give up. Bi? If you want to call it that, sure. I'd say more like Heteroflexible." He swigs down some coffee. "It has to be the right kind of guy, though."

"What, a fellow SEAL?" 

Caulder shoots him a look that could peel paint. "Someone who might be able to _make_ me --" Bear snorts at the idea of trying to do that to Caulder. Good way to get your neck snapped. "Somebody who can give me a good manhandling, keep it rough around the edges."

Oh. Yeah, there's not a lot of those when you're a guy like them.

"So …" 

"So, I'm going to make us the best greasy bar breakfast you've ever had --" That's no exaggeration, Caulder's an excellent cook. "-- and we're going to throw your clothes in the dryer and then we'll head back to the bar to get our cars. I'll see you on Monday." Caulder shrugs again.

The silence draws out between them as Bear wrestles with what he wants to say and Caulder beats him to it. "Look, Bear. This isn't going to happen again. Not because you're just another notch in my bed post, or because you're not good -- you're fucking great -- or because it's against regs." Caulder's eyes bore into his. "If this happens again, you're going to want an exclusive relationship, and I love you, because you and the rest of the team are my family, but I'm not _in love_ with you. I don't want to be in love with anybody -- not right now." He gestures between them. "You needed to blow off steam, I needed to blow off steam. It happened." He swallows and cocks his head. " _We good?_ "

(No we're not. We're both two guys who are fucked up in different ways, and adding another variable to the mix would not end up well, and the last 12 hours just handed me another shit-ton of things I don't want to deal with, and I need to talk to somebody about them, but there's just no fucking way that's going to happen.)

He takes a swallow of coffee. It's rich and full bodied and balanced and of course Caulder has the best coffee Bear's ever drunk because he's such a damn foodie. He follows it with another and savors it before blowing out a long breath.

"Yeah," he says, "Yeah, we're good."


End file.
